"I love him awfully," she said.
"I found him out on the moors when he was just a pup, a year ago, and I took him home. At first Mother liked him, but when he grew bigger he got terribly naughty."
"What did he do?" asked Anne.
"Well, he's an awfully chewy kind of dog," said George.
"He chewed up everything he could— a new rug Mother had bought— her nicest hat— Father's slippers— some of his papers, and things like that.
And he barked too.
I liked his bark, but Father didn't.
He said it nearly drove him mad.
He hit Timothy and that made me angry, so I was awfully rude to him."
"Did you get spanked?" said Anne.
"I wouldn't like to be rude to your father.
He looks fierce."
George looked out over the bay.
Her face had gone sulky again.
"Well, it doesn't matter what punishment I got," she said, "but the worst part of all was when Father said I couldn't keep Timothy any more, and Mother backed Father up and said Tim must go.
I cried for days— and I never do cry, you know, because boys don't and I like to be like a boy."
"Boys do cry sometimes," began Anne, looking at Dick, who had been a bit of a cry-baby three or four years back.
Dick gave her a sharp nudge, and she said no more.
George looked at Anne.
"Boys don't cry," she said, obstinately.
"Anyway, I've never seen one, and I always try not to cry myself.
It's so babyish.
But I just couldn't help it when Timothy had to go.
He cried too."
The children looked with great respect at Timothy.
They had not known that a dog could cry before.
"Do you mean— he cried real tears?" asked Anne.
"No, not quite," said George.
"He's too brave for that.
He cried with his voice— howled and howled and looked so miserable that he nearly broke my heart.
And then I knew I couldn't possibly part with him."
"What happened then?" asked Julian.
"I went to Alf, a fisher-boy I know," said George, "and I asked him if he'd keep Tim for me, if I paid him all the pocket-money I get.
He said he would, and so he does.
That's why I never have any money to spend— it all has to go on Tim. He seems to eat an awful lot— don't you, Tim?"
"Woof!" said Tim, and rolled over on his back, all his shaggy legs in the air.
Julian tickled him.
"How do you manage when you want any sweets or ice-creams?" said Anne, who spent most of her pocket-money on things of that sort.
"I don't manage," said George.
"I go without, of course."
This sounded awful to the other children, who loved ice-creams, chocolates and sweets, and had a good many of them.
They stared at George.
"Well— I suppose the other children who play on the beach share their sweets and ices with you sometimes, don't they?" asked Julian.
"I don't let them," said George.
"If I can never give them any myself it's not fair to take them.
So I say no."
The tinkle of an ice-cream man's bell was heard in the distance.
Julian felt in his pocket.
He jumped up and rushed off, jingling his money.
In a few moments he was back again, carrying four fat chocolate ice-cream bars.